asylum
by eyelashbald
Summary: Asylum picks up with events immediately after the conclusion of Requiem. The resistance has taken back Portland, but at tremendous cost to Lena and her friends. How will they move forward?
1. Chapter 1

**Hana**

I walk until the heels of my shoes are worn down to nubs, until the white satin of my dress is stained gray with the ash carried on the breeze. I walk until the sun begins inching its way toward the horizon, as if this were any other day.

This should have been my wedding day. Just now, I should be returning to the house on Essex Street. Fred should be closing the door tightly against a herd of press and onlookers, taking my hand and leading me up-

But there is no house on Essex Street anymore.

There is no door, and in all likelihood, there is no Fred.

The strangest sensation begins in my belly, a stir I have not felt since before I was cured.

Relief.

Remorse.

I am glad that I will not be Fred's wife. I think of the sound of the explosion, the deep rumble and then the crashing as all that beautiful marble and hardwood became dust, and the stir in my belly becomes a boil.

Who am I?

Not Hana Hargrove. That name belongs to a life that I will never lead.

Hana Tate?

My parents would never take me back if they knew what I had done. It occurs to me that I don't even know if they're alive. Miraculously, I have not seen a single person since I shut the door of the mansion and turned my back on the promise of the cure.

That will change quickly, I realize. Voices echo off the buildings around me as if the city is part of some ancient ruin newly excavated. Suddenly everything seems aged. I notice for the first time where my feet have carried me almost without my knowledge. I look up and find myself staring into the face of the Governor, the old statue at the center of town along the route Lena and I used to run. I have not been here since the day I slipped the note to Alex into the center of his polished hand. A lifetime ago. That was the last time I saw Lena before today.

Relief.

Remorse.

Lena is alive, which is more than I had expected. She is dirty, and clearly malnourished, but alive. And angry. Angrier than I can ever remember being, even as an uncured. I see again her face as I confessed, pale and twisted. And for a split second I think, _This is what the deliria does. It makes you angry and ugly and sick._

But the deliria is also what saved my life. Seeing Lena reminded me of how I was before the procedure-silly, reckless, jealous, daring. Powerful. All those nights I snuck out into the Highlands, I wasn't afraid. Breaking the rules made me feel superior to Lena. And then the morning after the raid, when she told me she'd come to find me. The feeling that surged through me.

Gratitude. _Love_.

Not what she felt for Alex, not what I thought I might have felt for Steve Hilt. A different beast, but not one wholly unrelated. Something so ferocious that even now, months after the cure, months after I was supposed to be safe, I feel it catch me in its teeth.

She could have left without a word. I never would have guessed.

She loved me enough to save me. Twice.

I know now. That's why I had to let her go.

That's why I have to find her.


	2. Chapter 2

Lena

We tear at the wall until our backs ache and our hands bleed. We rip it apart piece by piece, until there is almost nothing left, until we can no longer put off the inevitable. It is time to count our dead.

By the time the sun comes to perch on the trees beyond what remains of the wall, most of our group has assembled. Grace and I, Hunter, Bram, Coral, Alex and Julian. Pippa and Beast, as well as Max, Cap, and Colin, stay close to the border, helping to organize the surviving members of the resistance in addition to the young crowd of uncureds who joined us in the city streets. I expect my mother to join them, but she comes to stand just behind me.

"Where to, Lena?" she asks.

"The cove," I say.

We move together quietly, aware now of how few we are. Triumphant chatter can still be heard amongst the rebels at the wall, but as we near the beach, we come across more groups like ours: the ones whose victory is muted by fatigue and grief.

At the end of the cove, directly inland from the buoy where Alex told me who he really was so long ago, I spot two familiar, tangled shapes.

Tack.

And Raven.

At first, I think it's her corpse that he is rocking, ever so gently, pausing at intervals to push the tendrils of dark hair away from her face. Then, I see her whole body shudder and her lips contort in a grimace.

"Raven!"

I sprint towards them, hope for a moment lending me speed. When Tack looks up at the sound of my voice and gives a tiny shake of his head, though, my feet stop so quickly that the rest of my body doesn't react in time and I tumble to my knees. I crawl the rest of the way to them through the sand and sea grass.

It's not until I am close enough to touch her that I see how bad it is. Tack's hand clamped tightly just under her right breast conceals a ragged wound. The wet, sucking sound of her breathing tells me that the bullet has punctured her lung and lodged itself somewhere in her chest cavity. Her clothing is so soaked in blood and sweat that it looks as if she has just risen out of the sea. It's a miracle she has managed to hang on so long.

As I stare, helpless, she grimaces again and her hand comes up ever so slightly to cup the delicate swell of her stomach, so evident now that her shirt clings to her wasted body.

The horrible realization slams into me like a brick. How could I not have known? Granted, she had not gained much weight. How could she, in the Wilds? She had never been sick, maybe a little over-tired, but so were the rest of us.

"She thought she had about 6,7 weeks left. Plenty of time, she said," Tack whispers.

"Time for what?" I ask.

"To find somewhere safe."

Surely, life in the Wilds had taught her that nowhere was ever truly safe.

"I tried to talk her out of it," Tack murmurs. "We fought last night, after everyone else was asleep. She said I was being stupid. That she hadn't come this far to chicken out, not when we were so close. That if she didn't do everything in her power to see this through, she'd never forgive herself. It was her way of making it up to all the people we lost."

I remember before we left Rochester, how determined she'd sounded when she insisted that we wouldn't lose anyone.

Grandma. Grandpa. Squirrel. Miyako.

Blue.

"After we made it over the wall, after they..." he swallows roughly, "I brought her down here, as far away from the fighting as I could get. She talked a little at first, so I thought she would be okay. I got the bleeding stopped for the most part, but she can't breathe. I didn't know what to do."

His voice breaks, and I feel the same tears coursing down his cheeks begin to make their way down mine. I can sense the others behind us, but no one else seems to know what to do either, until my mother kneels in the sand by Raven's feet and places a hand gently over hers.

"Raven, if you can understand me, I think I can help. I think I can save your baby."

Surprisingly, Raven cracks open an eyelid. My heart soars for a moment, and I think " _She's ok!"_

But then she hiccups painfully as the air catches in her chest without ever reaching her lungs and her face turns purple from strain and oxygen deprivation.

"I think the shock of being shot has forced her body into an early labor," my mother looks intently at Raven while she addresses Tack. "She doesn't have enough strength left to push on her own, but I think..." He nods.

My mother pulls a knife from her belt and slits Raven's pants from her ankle to her hip. I can feel the others melting away, going quietly to whatever small tasks might be necessary.

Alex, leading Grace by the hand, goes in search of fresh water.

Julian begins building a lean-to out of driftwood and an old shower curtain he must have scrounged from one of the abandoned homes in the Highlands.

Hunter and Bram dig a fire pit and gather kindling.

Coral moves down the shoreline, asking for any clean linens people might be able to spare.

I help my mother tug the tattered pants out from under Raven as Tack lifts her gently and situates her back against his chest with her knees slightly bent. She lets out the softest hum when he presses his face into her neck, the tiniest of smiles hovering at the corner of her mouth, and that's when I know.

Raven is a deeply private person. It was months before I even suspected that she and Tack were together. She is savoring his affection now, openly, because it is the last chance she will ever have. She is as good as gone.

"What can I do?" I ask my mother, who is peering between Raven's legs with a look of fierce concentration.

"She is more dilated than I would have expected, considering the trauma her body has been through. In a normal situation she would have given birth already, but she's so weak..." She shakes her head. "The next time she has a contraction, push on her belly, in and down, firmly but not..."

Before she can finish her sentence, Raven shudders again and her stomach pulses with movement. My mother nods quickly. I place both hands on the smooth slope of Raven's stomach and push, as if I too am in labor. Raven's lip pinch together, but she doesn't make a sound. Tack's head stays bent, whispering into her ear. I think he is praying, but I can't be sure. I watch slack-jawed as my mother slides her small hand _inside_ Raven, tugging gently. When Raven goes limp again, she removes her hand and wipes it neatly on an old tea cloth handed to her by Coral, who has appeared on her other side.

"Once more should do it," she says.

I relax for a moment, sliding my hands over Raven's skin and picking up her hand, which is curled loosely on her chest. Her lips move hesitantly, as if each word is a tremendous effort. I have to lean close to hear them.

"Not...Like...Blue," she pants. I shake my head. _No, never_ , I think. "It's safe now," I whisper. She squeezes my hand as her body begins to convulse a final time. I put my hands back on her stomach and push. Raven gasps as a tiny bloody body slips soundlessly into my mother's waiting hands. "You have a daughter, Raven."

Her last words, however, are for Tack. "Love...You."


	3. Chapter 3

Hana

As I stand there lost in thought, three Invalids emerge from the nearest alleyway. I freeze, not knowing if I should run or beg them to take me with them.

"Who are you?" barks a thin man with fine orange hair. I don't know how to respond.

"That's Hana Tate. She was supposed to marry the mayor this morning." This from a sullen-faced boy who can't be more than fourteen.

The thin man and the boy regard me coolly. I'm not afraid. I stare right back.

"Take her back to Pippa. We might at least be able to get a ransom for her." The only woman in the group speaks with authority; she must be the one in charge.

The man and the boy approach, hands raised, though not with menace. Their twin masks of grim determination have much the same effect, however.

"No, please," I appeal to the woman. "I have to find my friend. She's one of you! Her name is Le-"

The man and the boy take my arms propelling me forward with a jerk that causes my mouth to snap shut with an audible click. My tongue stings where I've bitten it, and I taste blood.

"This will go easier if you keep your mouth shut," says the woman. I nod.

We march toward the coast as the last shred of daylight disappears beyond the horizon. The closer we get, the louder the commotion becomes. I've lived in this city my entire life, and yet not once have I seen this many people together all at once. And not normal cured people. Invalids.

I'd never thought there would be so many. Men, women, and children. The young and the old, huddled around fires, pitching tents, tending wounds.

We navigate the rubble clumsily, like competitors in a three-legged race, until we have left the fires behind. Huddled in the shadow of what little remains of the wall, is a small group of people whose collective gaze shifts nervously as we approach.

The thin man pushes me unceremoniously onto a flat stone that serves as a bench for two other women already waiting.

"Stay here, Nate. I'll be back," he addresses the boy before loping off. Nate plants his feet squarely in the sand and faces us, eyes squinting. Night is falling, so even though he is no more than ten feet away, the gloom makes his edges turn fuzzy. If I stare at him long enough, he might just fade away altogether, blending into the soft blue-gray haze like the mist from the waves crashing into the shore. If I close my eyes, this whole day might be no more than a dream.


End file.
